


greetings loved ones

by guybuddyfriend



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, anyway they are good pool boys, haha i made myself laugh, i listened EXCLUSIVELY to snoop doggs bit in california gurls while writing this, ikea idea, lifeguard david, swimming boy kyle, they kiss a lil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guybuddyfriend/pseuds/guybuddyfriend
Summary: kyle is wet and then he is slimy and its all thanks to his many problems and also david





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarcoBodtsChickenNuggets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcoBodtsChickenNuggets/gifts).



> shaka brah buddy

 The sound of the filters drones on, in one ear and out the other, and Kyle feels himself following it subconsciously, drifting in and out of consciousness. He bobs gently with the waves and feels his muscles release, eyes relaxing under his sunglasses and hands spreading, allowing the water to grip the edges of his fingers. The silence is drowning him, he is far away from problems long forgotten and there is naught in his vicinity but the slow lapping of water at his sides. Kyle stretches to the ends of his consciousness, chasing out thoughts of stress and annoyance in favour of tasting the warm, warm sun. He is finally at peace.

“Hey man, time to get out.”

The shadow thrown over Kyle’s face darkens the blackness behind his lids. Kyle grits his teeth. Raising his sunglasses and his head, he glares at the offending figure with a hatred even he couldn’t place, black and twisting in his stomach. He blinks in vain, the bright sun bouncing off the water is too much for him. He raises a hand to cover his eyes and winces at the sting of chlorine.

“I thought this was a public pool,” he groans, eyes still stinging as his legs come down to support him. He bounces on his toes to stay above the water and lets his hands fall back to the water. He squints up at this monstrosity, this killer of serenity and finds himself wondering if he is hallucinating. Kyle’s eyes crawl up deep, tanned calves to soft, slender thighs tucked into a pair of bright red swimming trunks. The trunks are tied loosely around a pair of slender, softened hips that blossom out into a pair of broad, strong shoulders, a long, bronzed expanse of soft stomach spanning the gap between. Kyle can barely force himself to raise his eyes any more, but he does when he hears the phrase,

“You’re burnt.” Kyle’s eyes snap to chapped thulian lips, crafting each word with the type of artisanal skill Kyle covets desperately, to high, regal and sun-gilded cheekbones, to wide, prominent ears and large, circular eyes, blinking at him urgently. The words sink in slowly along with this beautiful mirage in front of him and Kyle slides back into his body with the horror of the realization.

His eyes shoot down to his chest, now crimson from the sun. Kyle whirls around to search his surroundings, almost accusatory, looking for someone to blame for allowing him to cook under the California heat for so long, but is met by a painful and jolting emptiness. He bounces slowly in a circle, coming back round to face the person he has now recognized as the lifeguard that has worked here all summer; he is met with barely restrained snickers and glistening chocolate eyes. Over the summer, Kyle’d flirted with him most days, they’d exchanged phone numbers (but not names) a month ago but only sent a total of three texts and now they generally just made eyes at each other from across the pool. They had had a good time, doing this little dance, but Kyle has felt like he has been looking at himself experience his own emotions through a dirty glass window all summer, clouded by the stress and fear of university. Now, in this moment of disrupted peace, all he feels is clear anger, anxiety and embarrassment, expressing itself as a dark, twisting monstrosity in the pit of his stomach. He squints, snarls.

“ _What?_ ”

“You look like a chicken someone forgot to turn over.” The lifeguard snaps back without hesitating, eyes suddenly defiant and a thick, dark eyebrow approaches his hairline. They stare at one another in obstinate silence.

“Come on,” the lifeguard says at last, offering a hand. “Get out. Pool’s closing soon anyway.”

Kyle grumbles and paddles to the edge of the pool, but refuses the hand and hauls himself out of the water. He sits on the edge and makes to wave the lifeguard away, feeling especially dramatic today, but his fingers immediately brush something very soft and _very_ unexpected. Kyle jerks his hand back into his chest and glares over his shoulder accusingly only to lock eyes with the lifeguard who has stooped to a crouch and proffered the white towel that was thrown over his shoulder before.

Kyle takes it and wraps it around his own neck, pulling the edge up to scrub at his soaking curls. The lifeguard takes a step back, stretching to his full height, and Kyle pulls his legs underneath him, standing awkwardly and wobbling dangerously over the edge. The lifeguard snatches his elbow and hauls him away from the edge, and Kyle finds himself hunched into dark sun-warmed chest like he was under fire from something tangible (as opposed, perhaps, to his own thoughts.) The lifeguard snickers at him and Kyle snaps up, straightening his back and jutting his hips forward. Kyle is taller, but by less than an inch. They stare at each other, indignant hazel battling laughing carob, and finally the lifeguard slings his arm around Kyle’s round, soft waist and leads him into the pool house smoothly. Kyle walks with him, trying to find the lifeguard’s step so he won’t be prompted to remove his arm, hot blush spreading over his cheeks but shoulders back and head high. Kyle is trying to reduce his pounding heart because this kind of does feel like it’s been a long time coming, but remembers his clothes and jerks away, back to the pool. The lifeguard laughs lightly behind him and hooks a finger into Kyle’s waistband, tugging him back to facing forward. He gestured to the office, where Kyle saw his own red sneakers sticking up in the window, probably sitting on top of his clothes. Kyle walks towards the office, making a beeline for the hallway to the right that the wall of half-window breaks off into, going for the door. The lifeguard walks to the other side and leans against the window, watching, and Kyle does his best to ignore him as his body is assaulted with the blast of the air conditioner. He stalks down the dark little hallway and sees the family bathroom, the women’s room, and the men’s, then the changing rooms and the sauna. He is met at the end of the hallway with a chestnut door and a sign that reads “FIRE ESCAPE.”

He stares at it for almost thirty seconds, cogs in his head whirling, and then turns on his heel and feels his cheeks heat up incessantly. He hears the lifeguard cackling from the main room. He snarls. As Kyle storms up the hallway again and the lifeguard peeks around the corner, eyes dancing in the fluorescent lights. Kyle is incredibly embarrassed, hot shame flickering over his burnt face, the sting in his chest making itself known painfully.

“The office door is this way, pendejo.” The nasty feeling in Kyle’s stomach tightens momentarily, and with the light, clear ringing of the lifeguard’s laugh against the mostly bare, white walls of the rec room it smooths, stretching from a cramp in his abdomen to a relaxed acceptance. Kyle is suddenly invigorated; he is rejuvenated; all the adjectives he can think of came to him in the same font he used to read the back of his mother’s box of dried kale in. He is still embarrassed and he is still anxious, but in the silence of the now-closed but still alive rec centre, Kyle is reassured in his own safety, and he is so far from any problems he came here to escape that he joins the lifeguard in his own peal of laughter.

Kyle breaks into a sprint, and the lifeguard darts away. They play a quick game of catchup, Kyle dashing around the corner to see the lifeguard whirling past a ping pong table in the next room, light dancing off his back as he slips lithely through a tiny hallway littered with pool toys and brown cardboard boxes and throws himself the final stretch, towards a door with a frosted window at the end of it, fumbling with his keys desperately, throwing elated glances over his shoulder as Kyle blasts after him. The buzz is inescapable, their cackles bounce around them like bats from ceiling caves disturbed, and the chase is animating. Kyle is alive for the first time all summer, opening the window through which he witnessed himself live for three months and bursting forth from his flimsy cocoon of self-doubt and fear. He stretches his consciousness, feeling his own stride extend metre by metre, his inflating lungs drawing air deep into his belly, his spine pulling and cracking, his mouth drying and his eyes watering. Kyle is alive.

Kyle’s right arm slams into the wood of the door, careful to avoid the glass, body casing the caught lifeguard against it and mixing their thrilled heavy breaths in the inches between them. The lifeguard’s arm is twisted awkwardly, and Kyle leans back suddenly with the realization just as the lifeguard shoves the door open, and they both tumble into office. They both end up on the floor, a mess of limbs and shock and rapturous glee. Kyle treasures the fact that he ended up on his ass instead of his chest, and surrenders to the grey and blue carpet, laying back and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The lifeguard sits beside him, arms on his knees, sighing heavily. Kyle groans, knowing he’s a right sight, teal trunks still wet and hair frizzing, naked other than the swimsuit and a towel. He lays in the silence as they catch their breath.

“So,” the lifeguard says, a long-suffering sigh escaping him. “Is there a reason you terrorized my pool all summer? Everything okay, big guy?”

“ _Terrorized?_ ” Kyle hisses, one hand lifting to eye the lifeguard.

“What should I say? _Blessed?_ ” Kyle snorts and the lifeguard laughs through his teeth.

“I just have a lot going on,” Kyle mutters, returning his hand to his eye. The lifeguard seems to understand this and nods. In all reality, Kyle has no idea what’s happening in his life; he’s done nothing all summer, he’s been nowhere and seen no one, he didn’t even go home to see his parents. It’s his first summer away from them, and in an unexpected turn of events, he decided to move into the student housing from the dorms early and spend the summer settling in here in California, instead of coming home to his family in Colorado. He is lost in the world, almost completely alone, except for a couple kids he’s on first name basis with in his stats class and a professor he recognized once from a biology convention he went to in twelfth grade. He is trying desperately to grow up, but he has no idea how, where to start, or who he is supposed to become. He is terrified, but not of the things he hasn’t done- of the things he knows he is expected to do in the distant future. It’s ambiguous and it is foreign, the concept of growing up, and he’s horrified that he has to do it alone. He’s not necessarily _in_ any kind of _situation_ , but he knows that _technically_ he should be more panicked and should be using this stress as fuel to pressure himself into doing adult things, like actually buying furniture from Ikea instead of sleeping on a mattress he stole from a yard sale and eating nothing but pepperoni sticks and donut holes because he doesn’t have a refrigerator yet.

“Colorado is a long way away,” the lifeguard murmurs, and Kyle realizes that as he has been thinking he has been speaking, and the lifeguard just received one nineteenth of Kyle’s entire life in the form of verbal diarrhea.

Kyle sighs heavily and drags his hands down his face, instantly regretting it when the burn on his cheeks reminds him harshly of his nasty sunburn. They are quiet for a minute, and Kyle gets the impression quite clearly that despite the lifeguard having just spoken, it is not Kyle’s turn to talk yet.

“I’m Davíd,” the lifeguard says. Kyle opens his eyes and squints at him.

“I’m Kyle.”

“I’m a second year marine bio student.”

“What?”

“I’ll be living right across from the museum on Wilshire. I’m from Idaho, I’m nineteen, my parents own a restaurant and I’m alone out here. I’ve got two other roommates, but they know each other already and I’ve actually never met them. I move in tomorrow. I don’t have any furniture either. I’m sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor of my aunt’s place right now. I told her I already went to Ikea and all my shit got delivered, but I’m not even sure where the Ikea is here.”

“There’s one in Burbank. Forty-five minutes from uni.” They are silent for another minute. Kyle revels quietly in this solidarity.

“Toss me the aloe on the table.” Davíd says matter-of-factly. “You’re going to need it.”

Kyle reaches up and snatches the light green bottle from the wooden counter ringing the room. He starts to uncap it, but Davíd has crawled over to kneeling between his splayed legs, snatching it out of Kyle’s hands. Kyle stares at him for a full minute in silence. He can tell Davíd is regretting this, blushing and ducking, but uncapping the aloe anyway. Kyle doesn’t move.

“This is going to sting.”

“Yeah.” Kyle can’t take his eyes off this guy, this absolute angel from the heavens who swooped in and has rescued him from the imminent pain they both know is going to be brutal in the morning. Davíd squirts it into his palm and rubs it around, warming it up. Kyle tenses.

Davíd lays his splayed hands over Kyle’s chest gently, pressing two painful handprints into Kyle’s ribs. Kyle grits his teeth, and Davíd grins at him.

“It’s not that bad, come on man.” Kyle stares up at him, eyes watering, and Davíd slides his hands down his sides, over his soft belly and up over his breast bone. He works the cool gel into Kyle’s shoulders, then back down over his sides. Kyle sits up and watches Davíd work over his thighs, his calves, and then the tops of his feet. When he is done, they sit staring at one another, Davíd kneeling between Kyle’s splayed legs. Davíd caps the aloe and puts it on the table with too much care, he pays it too much attention, ears red and eyes focused on balancing it _just so_ on the ledge. Kyle reaches forward and Davíd freezes, allowing Kyle’s hand to hover just at the side of his face. They are immobilized in this cool, safe moment, and Kyle is afraid that he will lose himself in this emotion forever, this concept of safety and air-conditioned, aloe-smelling affection. Davíd breaks the spell when he presses his cheek into Kyle’s hand, turning back to face him. They lock eyes, and Davíd crawls forward, folding Kyle’s arm towards his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” Kyle whispers, and Davíd grins, tilting his head. Kyle presses his mouth to Davíd’s smile, letting soft lips encase him completely. They are quiet, bodily, for a moment, and then as though this is back when they were playing cat and mouse in the rec room they are all over each other; with a clap Kyle has thrown his arms around Davíd’s softened waist and they are all tongues, all lips, all hands. Kyle shivers at the cold on his back when he curls into a kneel, his ass is freezing. They break apart and Davíd pants into his mouth. Kyle swallows these gasps and licks his way back into Davíd’s mouth, and the desperation evens out, mellowing to a soft, rhythmic pulse of lips and tongue. They are peaceful in each other.

The light flickers, and it startles them both into pulling away, a loud wet sound squelching between their open mouths. Davíd sighs and scoots back, and instantly Kyle misses his warmth.

“Look, I gotta close up, but my truck is parked out back and you’re naked. I’m gonna lock the doors and you can figure-“ Davíd gestures to Kyle’s very burnt chest. “- _that_ out.” Kyle grins at him and they clasp hands, hauling each other to a stand. Davíd makes his way out towards the pool, and Kyle reaches for his clothes, listening as Davíd calls over his shoulder.

“It’s really dark out, do you want a ride home?”

“Only if it’s to your home,” Kyle follows him outside, tugging his shirt over his head.

“Please,” Davíd snorts, closer than Kyle anticipated, catching him as he almost walks into the pool while his head was stuck in the shirt. “By all means, invite yourself over, dickhead.”

Kyle tugs the shirt down and finds himself wrapped up in Davíd’s arms, intertwined carefully and tenderly. Davíd’s lips are parted and Kyle stares at them, riveted.

“I make breakfast,” Kyle whispers, paralyzed by the massive russet eyes offering nothing but promises.

Davíd licks those lips quickly, ducks his head slightly, and then manages to murmur,

“Can I kiss you?” Kyle’s head snaps up, and before Davíd can move in, Kyle shoves himself into Davíd’s chest. They fly backwards, all limbs and panic, and they both hear the subsequent shriek bounce off the beige cement walls of the pool house, echoing off into the deep violet night sky.

They are immersed in the cold pool water, separated and shocked, and Kyle’s chest burns. He hits air with a drowning kind of desperation, but the oxygen isn’t enough for him. He paddles towards Davíd, who is already swimming in his direction, and the second they can reach they are wrapping around each other almost violently, like this is their last chance at surviving. Hot mouths and soft tongues meet tenderly, an oasis of heat in the cool water, chests pressing together under the wet, flowy material of Kyle’s shirt. Davíd’s hands tangle in Kyle’s hair, and they bounce to stay afloat, circling and circling gently. Kyle lets his hands slide over Davíd’s back, coming to rest at his side and at the back of his neck. Davíd’s right hand comes down from Kyle’s hair and drifts over his chest gently before catching Kyle’s thigh and lifting it to his hip, locking them close. Kyle lets Davíd lead him back to the edge of the pool and they bump into it gently, lips still desperate and breaths shallow.

“Come on, Rodriguez!” A loud whine tears them apart, and they stare up at a young woman in jeans hovering over them. The sun has almost completely set, and despite the embarrassment creeping up in Kyle’s chest, it’s squashed almost completely by the inability to look away from Davíd, features sharpened and pronounced by the purpling sky. His cheekbones are golden, his jaw is cut, and eyes are glittering. Kyle is connected to the earth only by the hand hitching his thigh up further on Davíd’s hip and the one in his hair, unmoving and relentless.

Kyle doesn’t hear when the other lifeguard tells Davíd that she’s glad he’s caught the fish he’s been after all summer, when she tells him off for making out in the pool (it’s not _sanitary_ ), when she tells him that honestly, she doesn’t even care that much, as long as he remembers to lock the back gate, and that if they even think about thinking about taking off their trunks in the pool she’ll kill them both with her bare hands. All Kyle hears is Davíd’s relieved laugh and the sliding door shutting, signaling their cue to lock lips again. Davíd is hungry, licking into his mouth and Kyle squeezes his ass, enjoying the soft sound he makes. The delicate material of their swimming trunks tickles Kyle’s inner thighs and they are stuck together by the soaking t-shirt Kyle is wearing. They break apart softly, and Davíd slides his hands under Kyle’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head, releasing him from the sopping material and sliding his hands over the new skin revealed to him, slippery and cool. They remain tangled, bodies touching at every point, and they stare at each other in the fresh night.

Davíd bumps his forehead to Kyle’s and whispers lowly,

“Let’s go back to yours, and tomorrow morning we’ll go to Ikea together.” Kyle stares at him quietly, but allows himself to slide from the film of fear and glossy indifference, allows his inhibitions to leave him, allows his doubts and aching adversions to slip away as he falls into trust, into love, with someone he has been passively pining over for months. Nothing has to be as serious as he thought, nothing is set in stone, nothing _means_ anything, and Kyle can be whoever he chooses, simply because he chooses to be.

“Race you to the truck.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks guy


End file.
